Catharsis
by Athena Solaris
Summary: [Tseng and Elena, more at friendship] Catharsis: a purge of emotions such as grief and sadness. Eventually there is a time when the tears must stop and a choice must be made.


**Catharsis**

The grave was unmarked and simple. It was quite similar to the countless plots around it, save for a distinct lack of flowers, ribbons, or other objects of tribute. Elena had not needed that distinguishing feature to find the burial. She had last visited it in bandages and on crutches, and now that she was back on her feet, each step toward his memorial seemed to double the heaviness that rested on her shoulders.

Flecks of quartz and sandstone glistened on the grave's surface. Unlike the rest of the cemetery, which was filled with sturdy oaks and cedars, the only shade in his section came from a sickly looking ash sapling. Elena briefly recalled a man derisively remarking that the tree's sad appearance may have had a lot to do with the man who was being buried there. She had held her tongue. Reno had cast a sideways glance at Rude, probably in search of permission to bite the man's head off, but Rude was staring pointedly ahead at the ceremony. The monotone service had continued, and its few attendees had spent much of the time ignoring snide remarks from incidental passersby.

She passed other gravesites, some ornate, some haphazard. The entire section was an expansion made to accommodate people whose flesh and blood had betrayed them as a result of the Geostigma. And now there was another victim of a different sort of unintentional betrayal.

Elena didn't truly blame herself, but she wasn't quite naïve enough to believe that it couldn't have been avoided. No one else had blamed her either, which was both comforting and insulting. She had no burning desire to have more blood on her hands than necessary, and no one seemed to want to force such a burden on her. Yet, by their refusal to lay any blame on her, it felt almost as if it was being implied that there was no way she could have defended herself.

True, her dominant hand had been disabled by a dislocated shoulder and a nasty flesh wound, but it wouldn't have been that hard for her to shoot with her left hand, or to simply drop and roll. That single second could have spared his life and her left leg. Yet she had been paralyzed with fear; her options had seemed overwhelming, but there had really been only one right choice. That was not the decision she made.

Elena, now directly above Tseng's dead body, folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at the stone slab marking his grave, not glaring but concentrating. She took a careful account of what she did and did not have.

She had his memory, but not his love. She had held his life in her hands, but she was unable to hold on for more than a few seconds. She now carried a burden similar to the one he had during his years as a Turk. But she did not have his strength.

She sat heavily on the ground before his grave and hugged her folded legs to her chest, resting her forehead on her knees. "I'm not sad." She said it so weakly that even she wasn't convinced. "Who am I kidding!" She stood and began to pace in front of his grave angrily. "You're gone, I'm here, and you probably prefer it that way." She knew she was being irrational, shouting at a headstone and very nearly cursing the name of a dead man, but she figured she was entitled to a bit of absurd behavior. "How the hell could you do this to me?"

Elena wrapped her hands around the back of her neck, fingers interlocked, and squinted at the sun. She tried to tell herself that the tears in her eyes were due to its brightness, but she knew better. She let out a frustrated sigh before squatting in front of his grave and cupping her chin in one hand, tapping her cheek thoughtfully. A sense of purpose and determination began to dethrone her feelings of loss and anguish.

He had died. Not for her exactly, but in her place. He had taught her, helped her, and guided her. If she allowed herself a bit of pride, which she did occasionally, she could believe that he had learned from her as well.

His was a memory to honor, not to mourn.

She decided then and there that he would not one of countless victims. She would ensure that his death was not wasted on her.

_Author's Notes. Yeah, so pronouns are frustrating. This isn't meant as a pairing story, because I meant to focus more on the fact that Tseng was probably the closest thing Elena had to a mentor. Thank you for reading._


End file.
